To See Again the Stars
by saralinda
Summary: A SAINW prequel: April's been down-and-out since she deserted the Resistance after Casey's murder. Strange dreams of her long-lost friend Donatello have inspired her to rejoin the rebel movement; however, she must first convince Angel that she is worthy.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from the TMNT.**_

* * *

_Alas how hard it is to say what it was like,_

_this savage and sharp and strong forest,_

_which even in thought renews my fear!_

_So bitter was it that death is little moreso;_

_but in order to speak of the good that I found,_

_I'll tell of the other things I saw there._

—Dante, "The Inferno," Canto I

Another clump of iron-grey hair dropped from April O'Neil's scalp to the stained linoleum floor. She didn't notice.

"C'mon, _work_, damn you!" she muttered at the ancient metal payphone. It gleamed dully back at her in the light that spilled out from the main room at the Scales Bar. The wall behind it was a scrawling mess of faintly illuminated graffiti, much of it offering cheap sexual favors and scribbled profanities but plenty of it demanding the end of Shredder's reign. "Kill the Shredder," the wall cried out.

It was surely a sign.

As April continued her struggle with the phone, two men shuffled past her down the dark hallway. One of them leered at her and pulled his buddy to a stop. April froze momentarily before launching into a loud, one-sided conversation on the old phone.

"Yes, send Master Shredder's Strike Team immediately—there are collaborators here!"

The two men quickly walked on without a second glance at her. April swallowed back the bile that had risen in her throat and managed to get her pounding heart under control. She turned back to the phone. The Scales was pretty representative of most of New York's underground bars; the whiskey burned when you drank it and the clientele could burn you worse if you weren't ready for them. But the payphone usually worked, even during one of the Shredder's Communication Blackouts.

It wasn't working during this one.

April was about to give up when she heard a buzz and then, miraculously, a dial tone. "Thank God," she whispered, dialing a number…tapping her foot impatiently…hoping Angel was there to answer. She ran a hand across the patchy, molting skin on the top of her head and felt a few more clumps of hair gently fall away.

"Speak." The terse female voice that crackled across one of the few remaining landlines in New York was unmistakable.

"Angel, we need to talk."

"Nope."

April sighed. She had hoped Angel would have forgotten their old quarrel and be willing to cooperate. She'd have to resort to Plan B. Angel rarely did favors for anyone, but for her two favorite turtles—well, it might happen.

"It's about Leonardo. He wants to meet with Raphael, but he won't unless you and I are there, too. Can you convince Raph to meet us?"

There was a long pause. "Be at the power station in fifteen minutes. My guards will bring you to headquarters."

April replaced the receiver and leaned her head against the wall, which felt cool and slimy against her hot forehead. That hadn't gone _too_ badly. Slowly she picked up the phone again and punched in another number. She had one more call to make.

* * *

When the Shredder conquered New York City he crushed Chinatown, razing much of it to build a new power plant and then abandoning the half-finished building to the rats and the human Tribes driven to live with the rats. It loomed over this part of the city like an enormous black hole, a massive concrete structure that absorbed light, humanity, and everything that landed in its shadow.

The Tribes expected Oroku Saki to knock the abandoned plant down. But for some reason he let it stand, and it soon became the center of the new Black Market. Clean water, food, and medical supplies went for very high prices in the Underground marketplace.

April couldn't afford these things.

As she slunk up one of the dark streets that led to the immense black structure, she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the few unshattered storefront windows that were left in the neighborhood. Skinny, filthy, old…_mangy_. Cheekbones too sharp, green eyes too shadowed, skin an unhealthy yellow shade, and the hair…. She scratched her head and winced as more grey tufts rained down around her.

"He's poisoning you," came a familiar voice.

"Leo." April barely had time to breathe the name before she was wrapped in warm, strong arms and lifted off the sidewalk. A hand, scarred but still beautiful and powerful, gently touched the bare patches on her head.

She pushed Leonardo's hand away and separated herself, drawing her arms close around her narrow body. He took a step back; the familiar blue mask was gone, replaced by a pair of smoky black glasses. In the sputtering glow of the streetlamp she noticed a few new scars, but not many.

"So you're just letting him kill you like this?"

"Yup, and he's being awfully slow about it," she said with forced laughter. She could barely stand the weight of his gaze behind those glasses.

"It's been a long time, April. You've…you're so different." She didn't pull away when he reached out again to touch her face and neck, letting his rough fingers drift across her jutting collarbone and down her bony arms—only drawing back when he tried to touch her head.

"You're different too, Leo."

"Why did you want to meet with me?"

April drew a breath. It was now or never. "I'm ready, Leo. I'm ready to fight again."

* * *

_AN: More chapters to follow for those who are interested. I should be updating shortly._


	2. Chapter 2

In her dream, Donny looks just the way he did on the day he disappeared—young and strong and whole—except he is standing at her bedside at the nightmarish Saki Asylum, a pair of drooping lilies in his hand. Although the flowers are dying, they are still the most beautiful things in the room, which is uniformly gray and dismal.

"They're Splinter's," he explains, his brown eyes soft and solemn behind the purple mask. "He's gone."

"I'm sorry, Donny."

Donatello stares silently at the filth-encrusted window for a moment, and April feels the sudden urge to take him in her arms. It isn't like the occasional attraction she'd had for him years ago—more like the desire to mother him, to tell him she'll take care of him, that he doesn't have to look so sad.

Finally he trains his eyes steadily onto hers. All the fear and sadness in his face is gone; in their place there is only deadly resolve. She squirms uncomfortably on the dingy mattress.

"These are Splinter's gift to you, April." He presses a single delicate green stem into each of her hands. "Use what you have been given."

The snow-white flowers lengthen and change before her eyes into a pair of shining katanas.

"No," she whimpers, hands shaking uncontrollably. The katanas burn her palms like cold fire. She tries to let go.

Donatello imprisons her frail white hands within his powerful green ones, forcing her to clutch the beautiful, painful swords. Agony. She turns her head away and feels his breath against her ear. His voice is a caress, yet is filled with resolution and urgency. "You've forgotten who you are, April. Remember who you can be."

He gently lifts her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. She sees only love and encouragement there; her burning hands begin to cool and strengthen. And then she is swept back into nightmare as the lines around Donny's body blur and fuzz, as though he's being erased from existence.

"April, you can—," he manages to say before he fades away entirely.

That is usually the point at which April wakes from the dream, drenched with sweat (which is only partly due to fear), with blood roaring in her ears, throat burning, knees shaking.

When she wakes up screaming Donatello's name, an Utrom orderly comes into her room and injects some kind of sedative into her bruised, bony arm, and she falls back into disturbed dreams that are too vague to remember.

But when she wakes up silently, finding the flea-ridden bedclothes balled up in her raw hands and blood streaming from her fear-bitten lips, she can recover herself before any of her Keepers notice that anything is wrong. On those silent nights she remembers Splinter's katanas and begins to hope, then to trust…then to plan.

* * *

April almost enjoyed walking the streets with Leonardo by her side after so many years. But memories still stung her. She no longer knew the location of the Resistance headquarters. After she betrayed them—after she ran—they disowned her. She knew that the surviving members of the original Resistance despised her as a traitor, while the new generation of freedom fighters associated the name O'Neil with cowardice and treachery.

And why shouldn't they? April's mouth filled with a hot, metallic taste that was more than just the afterbite of the poison the staff of Saki's Asylum had been feeding her. It was the taste of failure and fear and despair, all rolled into one.

The Shredder's Asylum was a place of confinement for political prisoners who were weak in body but still a potential ideological threat to the One Government. Blacklisted from the Bureaucratic and Working Classes and unfit for the hard physical labor of Shredder's Work Camps, April had run from the Resistance only to find herself rounded up by an Utrom patrol and locked in the cell-like hospital room.

Her biggest problem with it was that it gave her too much time to think.

She almost savored the arsenic-laced meal that her Keepers brought her each day. That Shredder—such a bastard. At least he could have poisoned her to death outright, or paraded her out to one of the public executions that had become the only source of entertainment to the joy-starved public.

Casey had been the true backbone of the Resistance Movement. He'd been their rock, a general and a hero. After his murder at the hands of Shredder's elite, the rest of the Movement had hoped that April would fill his shoes. How could they have been expected to understand how nightmarish her existence had become without Casey? They had no food. Their children were being killed. They needed a leader.

And she had deserted them out of fear and selfishness.

April realized that Leonardo had just asked her a question and was waiting for her to answer. "Could you repeat that? I was…somewhere else."

"I asked if you'd like to clean up a bit before I take you to Angel. I mean if you're looking to impress her, you might try wearing actual clothing for a start."

April could feel the flush creeping up her pale cheeks. She knew Leo was…well, maybe not exactly worried about her, not after all these years, but definitely concerned for her. She was someone he had known Once Upon a Time, someone he had cared for. Maybe he even believed that she could restore her name among the Circle of Resistance leaders.

She wasn't sure if she believed that herself.

"Angel said I had fifteen minutes…"

He wordlessly handed her his long black trench coat. As she pulled it close around her, covering her rags, April breathed deeply the scent of spices and sweet tobacco and incense. Leo lived well. He might be an outsider, but he had made a name for himself among the underdwellers and the Tribes. The heavenly scents reminded her of how much of a Nothing she had become.

They had nearly reached the gates of the power plant when a squadron of Utrom slaves in recon formation roared overhead, the flaring lights of their exosuits casting red reflections on the black smoky sky. April found herself flung breathless and shaking into the shelter of a dark, abandoned doorway. Leo stood over her protectively, a katana drawn…waiting…the squadron gone…safe to walk at last.

Shamefaced, she looked up and realized he'd been speaking to her again.

"I was just wondering how you got Angel to agree to meet with you," he repeated patiently. "You're one of her least favorite people. Actually, she may hate you as much as she hates Shredder, just for different reasons."

He gestured up at the tall iron gates that loomed before them. A giant-sized likeness of the Shredder towered in the courtyard beyond: it was difficult to escape his gaze anywhere in the stone-faced city. "We're here, by the way."

"Leo, there's something I should tell you: Raphael will be there. I told Angel that you wanted the meeting—that you wanted to talk to Raph. That's the only reason she agreed to see me."

The waves of coldness that suddenly seemed to be flowing from his tense form were worse than any curses or screams or angry words that he could have flung at her. Those damned dark glasses….

"You had no right, April." His voice was so calm.

"It was the only way," she whispered. She wished he would yell at her like Mike used to do, but it was like a bottomless chasm had suddenly opened up between them. He'd shut her out as cleanly as if she didn't exist.

"I will escort you to Angel, because Casey would want it that way. But I won't meet with _him_." He faded back into the darkness surrounding the giant gates. "And I won't be seeing you again, either."


	3. Chapter 3

April had a hard time keeping up with Leonardo as they circled the enormous building. He kept completely to the shadows now, and she had to strain all her senses and muscles to stay behind him. Her lungs felt like they'd been filled with cold water and shoved into a deep freeze, and the metallic taste in her mouth had turned to blood, but she forced herself to run after him.

Leonardo. She'd forgotten how stubborn he could be…probably shouldn't have mentioned that Raph would be there until the absolute last minute. She doubted he'd wait for her if she stopped to puke her guts out.

Each time she felt she'd reached the limits of her endurance, Leo would run faster. Each time, she rallied what was left of her body to keep up. But finally she hit a wall; stumbling to a halt, she dropped to one knee, panting, holding her side tightly where the stitch threatened to come undone and spill her guts on the pavement. It was as far as she could go.

"You actually believe this meeting with Angel is going to do some _good_," he scoffed at her.

From the corner of her eye she saw him leaning against the shell of a bombed-out car, arms folded tightly across his chest. Then she retched large quantities of blood-streaked vomit onto the pavement.

Gasping, April did her best to wipe her mouth clean. She began removing the black trench coat, but Leo made a sound of disgust. "Keep it. Please. Listen, your fifteen minutes are up. I suggest you either get up and follow me now or go back to your Keepers at the Asylum—if they still want you, that is."

"At least I'm doing something." Her throat felt thick and swollen. "At least I'm trying, Leo."

"Whatever. If I were you, I'd try to find a safe transport out of the city, buy a new identity, and move on with your life. Maybe you'll find other people to use."

"This is my fight."

"This fight doesn't want you, April. You don't fit anymore. I bet when Shredder finds out you've escaped, he won't even care."

Moving gingerly on hands and knees, April edged away from the puddle of sick and forced herself to be calm. "Don't hold back, Leo. I'm all ears. But you know what I think?" And she flashed a yellow-toothed grin at her old friend. "I think that those are things you believe about _yourself._"

Leo's attitude of casual boredom suddenly boiled into something more dangerous. He moved toward her with fists clenched, but she ignored him and pressed on.

"You're respected among the rebels, but you're not really one of them. They'd simply replace you if you got yourself killed." Tentatively she reached up and touched his forearm. "Mercenaries aren't heroes, Leo. They're not close like brothers-in-arms, like family. No one misses them when they're gone."

"That's not true; I'd miss ya, Leo."

April's head snapped up in alarm, but she could see no one else on the street.

Leonardo grunted. "Spader."

"That's Spades to you," the voice purred.

A lean figure slipped gracefully down from a nearby fire escape and bowed to April with a number of elaborate flourishes. Heedless of the vomit spattered around her, he reached down and kissed the back of her hand. "What a lovely black coat, my dear."

"Congratulations, April," Leo smirked. "Angel's sent none other than her Court Jester to meet you. That can't be a good sign."

"I steal from the Rich and give to the Fabulous, that's all."

April had to hand it to Spades; he'd single-handedly rescued Flamboyance from the Shredder's Manifest Destiny of Destruction. His dingy, loose-fitting clothes were patched with every color of the rainbow. A black Carnival mask covered the upper part of his face, while a few straggling ostrich plumes bravely waved from the top of his wide-brimmed felt hat. At his side was slung a long, ebony-black bow and quiver of arrows.

Leo hauled April to her feet, allowing her to steady herself for a moment on his arm. "My duty to Casey is fulfilled." Catlike, he slipped away and evaporated into the darkness that edged the far side of the street. A sudden red flare erupted in the sky beyond the rooftops, briefly illuminating his battle-worn shell as he disappeared down a nearby alley.

April felt a knot clench in her stomach, felt the urge to cry out after him. Her Leo...

"General Angel will not be happy to see you've come alone," Spades said to April cheerfully. He didn't seem in the least bothered by her appearance or even slightly curious about why April wanted to see his leader. "She was promised an audience with Leonardo. He still owes her some work that was paid for but never completed."

He looked up at the sooty night sky, which was punctuated here and there by ominous orange flashes. "Best get going if we're going to make it back tonight."

"Is it far? I don't think I can walk much further…." Inwardly, April questioned whether she could even stay on her feet for much longer.

"Oh, we're not walking. We're going to _fly_, of course; probably a good thing that we got all that vomiting out of the way ahead of time. But first, Miss O'Neil," and he removed a strip of cheerful pink fabric from his sleeve, "I must blindfold you. Protocols of the Resistance and whatnot."

She didn't protest as he tied it over her eyes; it smelled pleasantly like fruit—rich peaches or apricots. A smell she hadn't enjoyed in years. Suddenly her heart lightened, and hearing Spades laugh, feeling his gentle hand guiding her back to the fire escape, April felt her hope come crawling gamely back.

_He's stronger than he looks,_ she thought as he carefully lifted her over his shoulder. Hanging upside down from the back of a stranger, suspended above the vomit-spattered pavement, April tried to picture Donatello's eyes. _Trust_, she remembered.

"This isn't a _dignified_ way to travel, but don't worry—it's going to get much worse," Spades promised as he crawled up the steep steel ladder. She laughed.

Shocked, April covered her mouth. _A laugh?_ It had been ten years. A laugh.

The concrete roof of the Power Plant was cold. The sound of Karai's voice, her hourly pronouncement of the Shredder's omniscience and mastery, rang faintly across the city. April could smell a sour mixture of sulfur and ash and diesel on the wind, but the scent of fruit and Spader's cheerful whistle made her laugh again in spite of it.

_Two laughs in one night…._

"Okay, this might feel a little funny, so let me explain. We've captured an Utrom exosuit and modified it for our purposes, but we still need to disguise ourselves, right? We need to look Utrom. Now," he continued, turning her so she faced away from him and pulling her firmly against his chest, "I have a special feature in this mask that cloaks our true appearance. Two very attractive people will soon appear to be one wrinkly, walking brain. Blue-eyed, I expect, but still rather squidgy. Hang on."

April waited expectantly but felt nothing except the beat of Spades' heart through his thin shirt. Then a metal clasp closed around her legs and arms, locking her firmly into the suit. She felt a burst of energy surround her like sparkles of static electricity; she assumed this was Spades' mask projecting its cloaking image around them.

"Whew! Good thing Leo decided not to come—there isn't a ton of room in here. Right—takeoff in ten…nine…"

"That's some mask, Spades."

"Beware the Phantom of the Apocalypse, my angel."

Rockets roared; she felt his muscles tighten as he guided the superhuman suit into the thick haze over New York City.

_One angel on her way to meet another_….


	4. Chapter 4

"Bring the prisoner forward, Captain Spader." The gravelly voice sounded tired. "Where's Leonardo?"

"He refused to come, sir."

"Any other news from your patrol?"

"No, sir. All quiet in Quadrant 5—nothing from my contacts at the Market. I did spot some superfine Karai Legion Bots on recon in the south sector, although they didn't get anywhere near the field hospital. I don't believe they are aware of its location, but I warned the medics to evacuate the patients to a more secure area just in case."

"Good. General Angel wants this prisoner put in the holding cell for now; she'll deal with her later. She was called away unexpectedly—an emergency—right now she's with the commandos at the ammo dump. They've been hit pretty hard by those metal mammas; they could use another fighter."

"Uh…prisoner?" April interrupted. But the Gravelly Voice ignored her.

"You may join them, Captain, and file your report later."

"All RIGHT!"

"Excuse me, but I am NOT a prisoner!" April interjected angrily.

"Captain Spader, repeat after me: Karai Legion Bots are not sexy."

"But sir—you gotta admit they're kind of hot. C'mon—those legs…"

"Spader, they have all the sex appeal of an oil drum in a mini skirt. Not sexy. Repeat."

"Can someone please explain why I have been taken prisoner?" April shouted.

She reached up to rip off the blindfold, but Spades made a sharp warning sound under his breath from somewhere just behind her. Grudgingly she put her hands down by her sides. He cleared his throat and continued his argument with the Gravelly Voice.

"Sir, with the utmost respect, I must disagree. The Shredder designed them to represent his darkest Dominatrix fantasies. They are Hot and Sexy and I love them."

"Dude, he modeled them after his _daughter_. You're sick. Go. And Spader—burn the hat! I see you wearing it again, and I will personally beat every last rhinestone off your sparkly ass."

"Sir, yes sir!"

Spades patted her shoulder in a friendly manner and then was gone. April's heart sank a bit; she had hoped he'd be there for the meeting with Angel. She would've liked a friend by her side. Instead, Gravelly Voice took her firmly by the elbow and began marching her down what sounded like a long, echoing hallway.

"You are our prisoner," he explained, "because you are not one of us." He sounded even more exhausted than before.

"I only came to talk," she said quietly. "I'm not a threat."

"That's not what Angel thinks. What happened with Leo? I thought you might actually be able to talk some sense into him, make him and Raph see eye to eye. You of all people used to be able to do that."

Realization hit April like a slap to the back of the head. _"Mikey?"_

The hand on her elbow relaxed momentarily. "No one's called me that in a long time."

"Mikey, please let me take off this blindfold!"

Reluctantly he pulled the knotted fabric from her eyes. "Hi April," he said, his husky voice uncertain as his nervous fingers twisted the blindfold.

April drank him in: the missing arm, the scarred skin and weary blue eyes beneath the hooded yellow mask. She wanted to apologize personally for each mark on his battered body. She wanted to kill whoever had taken his arm.

He watched her watching him, and his blue eyes suddenly sparked with some of their old mischief; his mouth twisted into the crooked smile she remembered so well.

"Not as pretty as I used to be, but I know you still think I'm the sexiest turtle that ever walked the earth."

April laughed as a small bubble of joy seemed to expand instantly in her chest. Impulsively throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed his scarred cheek, his hand, and his maimed arm. He felt so solid and familiar. In spite of all the change in his life, underneath he was still Mikey.

"Aw yeah, see what I mean?" he exclaimed gleefully as she rested in the curve of his powerful arm. But there was something protective and fraternal about the way he returned her embrace, and she realized that she probably needed his closeness more than he needed hers. At last she'd found a constant, something pure from the past that the Shredder hadn't been able to kill.

"I missed you so much, April. I didn't handle it so well."

Burying her face in his shoulder felt good. Mike smelled fresh and cold, like the night wind—the same scent that used to cling to him after a midnight run across the rooftops with his brothers. An image of the four of them crouched on the fire escape outside her apartment window, laughing and teasing one another, popped into her head. She squeezed him convulsively at the memory.

He stroked her back gently, awkwardly. "You hungry?" he asked. "I made soup."

* * *

"You look like hell, O'Neil."

April couldn't disagree with Angel on that point.

She'd recently broken out of the most notorious political prison on the East Coast. In the last 48 hours she'd had only one nonpoisonous meal and a couple of hours of rest in Mike's quarters. He agreed to shave the rest of her hair off, making her look a little bit less mangy. But when he tried to convince her to give up Leo's trench coat in exchange for the standard gray rags worn by the Resistance, she'd refused.

"I can't explain it, but I feel like he's still with us when I wear it."

"You talk like he's dead, April, and not just some asshole who has to hire all of his friends."

"He's given up, Mike. In his mind, I think he believes he's as good as dead."

Michelangelo looked uneasy. "Leo wasn't talkin' suicide or anything like that, was he?"

April shook her head. "He's simply living out the rest of his time, Mikey."

"Poor dude has to listen to his old ladylove's voice every hour on the hour, too. _That_ can't be healthy."

April shrugged. Most people she knew simply tuned out Karai's broadcasted threats. They were just part of the wallpaper.

The cracked mirror in Mike's bathroom hadn't been kind: too-pale skin, sunken green eyes in shadowed sockets; cracked, ragged lips. The contrast of white face and black coat reminded her of the poor soul in Edvard Munch's _The Scream_.

"Let's take a poll: do I look more like a clown or an alien?"

"You look like my friend. You're April. And you're under my protection now, damnit. You can be sure of that," he growled.

"Do I need your protection?" she had asked, only half joking.

Now, as she faced the rebel leader on the crowded floor of the Circle Chamber, April was glad of Mike's promise to look after her. The Chamber turned out to be the old basement cafeteria of the condemned hospital building that the Resistance had taken over as headquarters. It was where the rebels held secret meetings, planned attacks, and meted out justice. Broken plaster littered the cracked tile floor; electricity was precious and intermittent, so the Resistance members had lit dozens of candles and lamps.

They surrounded her, some lounging against the stained walls or busted tables, others standing defiantly with arms crossed; a few, injured in battle, rested on the floor. Their faces—some hooded or masked, some pale and wreathed in cigarette smoke, others scarred or bandaged—were all turned toward April.

She wasn't used to this many people staring at her; the reactions she was getting ranged from curiosity to anger. The tingle of panic that fluttered in her belly threatened to explode into a full-fledged hyperventilation session. Then she noticed a tall figure in a bizarre hat waving to her from the corner: Spader. He was among the injured—a bloodstained bandage was tied across his forehead. And Mike was a reassuring presence just behind her, a little to her right…so there were at least two friendlies.

But her fears were unfounded. Angel's commanding presence was enough to restrain any potential troublemakers in the crowd.

In many ways, Angel hadn't changed since the Old Days. Compact and direct, muscular yet curvaceous, she oozed the same charismatic energy she'd possessed as a teenager. She'd dispensed with the purple ponytails and kept her dark hair cropped close to her head, which only made her thick-lashed hazel eyes stand out more dramatically in her heart-shaped face. A small stud glittered in her nose, but otherwise she wore no jewelry. Her clothing was clean and black, close fitting but not tight.

"What do you want, Prisoner O'Neil? You are now free to speak before the Circle Court. And it had better be worth our time."

"Am I on trial or something?"

"You wanted to talk. Talk. You might start by explaining why you failed to bring Leonardo here."

April pointedly looked around the room. "I don't see Raphael anywhere, either. So maybe we're even."

"I admire and respect both Leonardo and Raphael. I allowed you access to our Circle because I saw the opportunity to unite them once again." Angel paused, her eyes narrowing. "And that is the _only_ reason you haven't been torn apart yet, traitor."

April could sense Mike shifting his weight. "Easy," he breathed.

"Then perhaps I should reveal my true intentions," she said steadily, willing her voice not to break. She could almost feel the weight of the stares directed at her and a flush crept up her cheeks. But she had Mikey behind her. Somewhere inside, she had Donny. And even if he had decided to hate her for the rest of his life, Leo's protective presence lingered in the warmth of the coat wrapped around her.

"I've come to reclaim my rightful place here. I've come back."

There was some scattered laughter, some profanity, some murmuring in the crowd. In his corner, Captain Spader stood up a bit straighter, his face alert. Mike moved a step closer to her. _"Easy,"_ she could almost hear him whisper again. _Easy._

Angel didn't laugh. "Is that a challenge? Did you finally get tired of being a useless has-been? Or is it money? How much has the Shredder paid you to leak all of our plans to him?"

April snorted. "You're wrong, Angel. I know more about the Shredder's organization than any of you. I think we can recruit some of the Utrom slaves and scientists to our side. And I know how we can—"

The Rebel Leader held up a hand. "I've heard enough. Miss O'Neil has become a bit _too_ familiar with the Shredder, don't you think? Execute her." She turned her back.

"No!" Mike shouted. He leapt toward Angel, but a nearby commando lunged forward and brought him down with a powerful taser. He screamed, writhing at Angel's feet.

"Are you a traitor now too, Michelangelo?" Angel hissed, but there was pain in her narrowed eyes. "Lock him up, Ballard."

"Yes sir!" answered the commando, shocking the struggling turtle again before chaining his arm behind his back.

"Mikey!" April screamed, running toward him; two gray-clad soldiers grabbed her and held her, struggling, between them.

"April…," he moaned. "No…."

Angel looked around the room, which had suddenly grown still and quiet. "What's wrong with you? I gave an order. Execute her, now!"

That was when the whirlwind hit. April didn't know where he came from, but Leo was suddenly standing in front of her, on guard with twin katanas drawn; her captors were groaning on the floor.

"Leo!" April and Angel said simultaneously—April's voice a whisper, Angel's a shout of disbelief.

"Yes, Angel," he said, ignoring April. "I know we have some…unfinished business."

"Including the 'business' you're interrupting as we speak."

"You will free my brother."

Angel snorted. "He attacked me. You're in no position to give orders here, Leonardo."

Most of the crowd seemed to think otherwise. Many had backed further into the corners of the room, unwilling to stand near the swordsman. But Leonardo ignored them, shifting a bit closer to Michelangelo. The yellow-masked turtle's guard abruptly dropped the chain he was holding and raised his arms in the air, backing away from his prisoner. Leo reached down and untied his brother's arm.

Michelangelo immediately moved to April's side, his nunchuck at the ready. Angel's fury radiated like static energy. "You'll pay for that, Leonardo."

"I only want to talk," he replied casually. "Don't make me bring up the many times I've saved your life, Angel. You owe it to me."

Angel bristled, but seemed to be rapidly rethinking her strategy. "Yes, fine—we'll talk."

"About April's new position as leader of this crew," he finished for her. Angel's mouth fell open. "Unless you actually _win_ the contest of single combat," he continued, "in which case you'll continue to lead the Resistance to uncertain victory."

The crowd burst into excited chatter, but Angel's raised hand silenced them at once.

"We still honor Casey's laws here," she said quietly, her tightened fists shaking with emotion. "If April O'Neil wants single combat, it will happen. Tomorrow night," she finished. "Full combat rules of the Circle apply. No exceptions."

At this she glared at Michelangelo and Spades, who had emerged from the crowd to stand at April's side. "Be ready with a second, O'Neil." April didn't like the grin that suddenly spread across her rival's face. "I've already chosen mine."

Leo and Mike bowed and backed out of the room, escorting April between them. Spades brought up the rear. She could hear him chuckling to himself.

"That was _outstanding_, baby," he crowed as they returned to Michelangelo's quarters, picking up her hand and high-fiving it. "Those meetings are usually really boring."

April was trying to remember Casey's Rule for Single Combat. She knew he'd instituted it just in case any arguments arose in the ranks of the Resistance. It was supposed to bring transparency to the rebel leadership, allow grievances to be aired, and more importantly, to keep the group from being divided.

"United we stand," she murmured to herself.

Leo and Michelangelo were walking several yards ahead, talking in quiet tones. Leo put a hand on Mike's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Mike reached up and gave his brother a quick, gruff hug with his good arm.

"Ain't brotherhood grand?" Spades said with a mock-sigh, falling into step next to her.

"Why are you helping me, Spader?"

"I lurrrrve the underdog, baby. The longshot. The outside chance. You inspire me. I want to be part of the O'Neil Comeback Team. I love your new haircut. I Heart Utrom Collaborators."

"So you're betting against me, then?"

"Moi?" he asked, batting his eyelashes innocently. Then his masked face grew serious. Or, April guessed, as serious as it was ever going to get. "I can tell you one thing, I'm pretty sure who Angel's second is going to be. Leo's not gonna be happy."

"Not…?" April groaned, unable to finish the sentence.

"Ooh, yeah. Angel's number-one loverboy, the Man in Red himself. And I don't mean Santa Claus." Spades considered this. "Although that would be pretty awesome."

Leo took her aside when they reached Mike's room in the drafty old hospital. "April, I want to apologize. You didn't deserve what I said earlier." His eyeridges were knit together in concern. "Please forgive me."

"Forgiven," she said without hesitation. "But why did you come back?"

He looked into her eyes and April was surprise to see shame written on his face.

"I dreamed of Splinter last night. And he told me to give you this." He placed the hilt of one of his katanas in her hand. "The rest of what he told me…well, let's just say he ripped me a new one. Amazing that he can still do that, even after being gone for so many years…," Leo trailed off.

"Leo, do you think I can do this?"

Bitterness and cynicism melted away, replaced by an earnest, sincere expression; it made her feel as though sixteen-year-old Leonardo was standing beside her once again. "I believe you're going to make some kind of difference tomorrow night, April. We all need hope right now."

"But first we need food," Mike interrupted.

April sat down cross-legged on the floor by Mike's table, which was heaped with packages of freeze-dried vegetables, dry bread, and some leftover soup. Spades raised a tin mug of clear, clean water.

"We hang together, or we hang separately!" he toasted cheerfully.

April raised a plastic "I Love NY" coffee mug and met Leo's gaze across the table.

"Together," she pledged. "Till the end."


	5. Chapter 5

She was wrapped in Leonardo's warm coat and huddled under Michelangelo and Spader's ragged wool blankets. And she was still cold. After supper Mike had dragged her into the corner, where there was a thin mattress on the floor.

"You're going to bed, April. Now. No arguments."

April couldn't think of a single argument against going to bed—she'd never felt this tired in her life. But sleep wouldn't come. Her battle with Angel was looming.

It didn't help that the only friends she had in the world were discussing her fate a few yards away.

Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Spader were talking in hushed tones that carried across the room perfectly, faces serious in the flickering light of Mike's battered oil lamp. April dragged the heavy knit cap that Mike had lent her down over her eyes and ears, but she could still hear them whispering.

"That's thirty-seven," she moaned, rolling over and trying to bury her head even deeper under the blankets. She could hear their muffled exclamations of surprise.

"April, you're still awake? Get some rest, will ya?"

"Sheesh, April—sleep already!"

"You need some company over there, milady? Cuz I'd be happy to—OW!"

She sat up abruptly. Spades was rubbing the back of his head and shooting black looks at Mike, who was grinning and cracking his knuckles.

"Thirty-seven?" Leo asked.

"So far, you've rehearsed at least thirty-seven ways I could potentially get my ass handed to me on a silver platter tomorrow. I was sort of hoping for a more impressive vote of confidence, guys. There's got to be _some_ hope for me, right?"

They shot guilty looks at each other. Leo stood up. "April, can I talk to you for a minute?" He raised an eyeridge at Michelangelo and nodded toward the door.

"C'mon, Spader—time for perimeter duty," Mike ordered, dragging the Captain to his feet.

Leo waited for the other two to leave before dropping to his knees next to her pallet. "I'm sorry—we shouldn't have been speculating about the fight in front of you."

"Or you should have _included_ _me_ in the conversation." She drew the blankets around her thin shoulders. "I guess there's really no way I'm going to beat Angel."

Rising, he pulled her to her feet and led her to the boarded-up window. The night wind murmured a sad lullaby through the chinks in the makeshift shutter. Reaching up, he ripped off the rotten corner of the plywood. "Tell me what you see." His face was inscrutable behind the dark glasses.

She looked out upon the barren cityscape. "The Incinerator, of course." That monstrosity, ablaze with the three-pronged Foot symbol, had dominated the New York Skyline since almost the first week of the Shredder's takeover.

"The power plant, in the distance. Someone's lit the beacon on the roof, so there must be a Market tonight. The Library of the One Truth. The munitions plant and the science complex…the slave quarters—" _and_ _the Asylum_, she mentally added but would not say aloud.

One building dwarfed the rest: the One Government's central command, the nerve center of the tangled, smoking rubble that New York had become. "Shredder Tower. I think he might be trying to compensate for something…."

She turned away from the window, but he roughly shoved her toward it again. "You're just listing the buildings, April. What do you _see_ out there?"

His hand was pressing painfully into her lower back, forcing her against the wall. Her palms started to tingle with sweat, and her voice shook slightly. "A lot of dust and ash blowing around. The sky looks…lower than usual. Like it's brushing the rooftops. And it's a sick red-black color."

"More," he commanded quietly.

She licked her lips. "I see Legion Bot patrols scouting the streets uptown. I see Utroms in the sky." Suddenly a flood of what looked like black ants poured out of one of the larger brick structures by the river. "There's been a shift change at one of the armament factories, I can't tell which one from here. There's a child in the street down below, picking through a pile of junk next to the sidewalk."

Pinned tightly against the moldy window, she had a vision of the rotten wood giving way beneath her weight, of plummeting eight stories down into a pile of junk in front of a very surprised street kid.

"That's all, Leo. That's all I see. P—please," she gasped.

He released her. Her first thought was to get away, but the expression on Leo's face stopped her cold.

The glasses were gone; luminous hazel eyes, wreathed in jagged scars that trailed across his face like poisonous vines, stared at her, unblinking. She could see herself reflected in them, could see a flicker of red where the light from the polluted sky had bled into his vision. His mouth was frozen in a grotesque parody of a grin.

"No hope, then, April? No hope out there? You see it doesn't matter who wins the battle tomorrow night. We'll still be crushed. We'll be crushed with Angel, or with you." His hands twitched toward the hilts of his katanas as he stared through her for a few moments; she could faintly hear the sound of his teeth grinding together.

"Back off, Leo."

April slowly exhaled as Michelangelo, nunchaku in hand, circled behind his brother. Leonardo stiffened. Then he shook his head as though trying to rid himself of a dream…the glasses were on once more, the face hard and bare of expression.

"Personally, I'd prefer it if you won; Angel's been getting sloppy in her leadership lately. There're more than a few Resistance members who want her out, although the commando units are still loyal. But you have to understand that I have no hope for you, April. There's none left for any of us."

"Enough. I think you'd better take a walk, bro. April doesn't need your brand of encouragement right now."

"Face reality, Mikey. She doesn't have a chance tomorrow."

"Get out. Now."

He shouldered through the doorway past Michelangelo.

"Hey, what's the big hurry?" she heard someone protest from the hall. Spader clumped into the room. "That's one unhappy ninja mercenary, folks," he commented, dropping an armload of fragrant Chinese food containers on the table. "I found breakfast. You can thank me later."

He cast himself down in front of the door, wrapping the edges of his patched cloak beneath him. April had never seen anyone fall asleep that quickly.

"I'm sorry, April, he gets like that at times—" Mike began. She felt the tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. "—I'll kill him," he finished, his voice harsh.

"Stop. There're a lot of things that I can handle; you guys being at each other's throats all the time is not one of them."

April lay down again in the darkened room, lulled by Spader's soft snore. She tossed and turned on the cold lumpy bed, trying to drive Leo's parting words out of her brain. Frustrated, she sat up again. Michelangelo was at the table, poring over a large sheaf of papers by candlelight.

"What're you reading?"

He frowned and flipped through the dusty pages. "Just Casey's Rule for Single Combat—which, from all appearances, he wrote with Raph during Dollar Draft Night at the Scales. Ha—look at this." He held up what looked like a stained cocktail napkin. "The rough copy."

"You're kidding me."

"Listen, here's rule number one: 'Both fighters must wear approved combat gear: one regulation white goaltender mask.' Rule two: 'fighters are allowed one golf bag filled with the weapons of their choice.'" His blue eyes widened. "Rule three: 'fighters must begin the contest with the approved battle-cry, _Goongala-Cowabunga!_' It…it sort of goes on from there. But you get the picture."

"I can't wait to hear Angel yell that. Even if I have to eat through a straw for the rest of my life, it will be worth it."

Michelangelo snorted. "Knowing Angel, she'll make it look good."

"I'm a little concerned that I'm fighting for leadership of an organization that bases its infrastructure on secondhand beer coasters." It wasn't hard to interpret the look Mike gave her; _well, he was _your_ boyfriend, April. _

"Mikey," she continued uncertainly, "Will you be my second?"

"I don't know if that would be a good idea."

"It's just, I was counting on—"

He held up one finger. "Don't say his name—I was just starting to feel better about life. Let's go over our options in the morning, 'kay? I'm wiped."

"What about Spader?"

"He would be one of the options we need to go over."

"But—"

He blew out the candle; she waited as he pulled back the blankets and slid in next to her. Warmth.

"Tomorrow," he whispered. Then he, too, was asleep.

* * *

"_Hey, Casey!"_

"_Baaaaaabe! You are _fine_." _

_They are embracing. He feels powerful, real, under her fingertips, but she knows it can't be._

"_You wanna hit the movies later?" he asks, lovingly stroking her rich red hair._

She wakes up, face wet, reaching for Warmth, for Michelangelo, nestling her grimy cheek against his scarred chest.

"M'here," he mumbles, half asleep. "Gonnawakeupsoon, promise."

* * *

Red light pierces the chink in the shutter. Raid sirens wail. Though Mike's room is high above the street, April can still hear the sounds of panic, running feet, crying children in the alley below. Then the roar drowns out all sounds of life: Karai Legions swarming the night, rounding up outsiders and street kids, rocketing through the air only feet away from her head.

Spader crouches by the window, explosive-laden arrow on string, waiting to fire but unwilling to give away their hiding place. The flaring rockets shed light and heat on his unmasked face: it is craggier, older, wiser than she expected it to be. His spiky blond hair is pushed back from his wounded forehead, contained by the bloodstained bandage—a reminder of another battle fought only hours before. His eyes narrow but he does not loose the arrow…he waits.

Michelangelo is searching a navigational chart by the weak light of the candle and shouting desperately into a battered communicator. April can only close her eyes and pin her hands against her ears as another swarm of Bots shatters past their hiding place.

Then silence returns, remade as quickly as it was destroyed.

Spader laughs, his face suddenly young and mischievous again. "Just a random raid," he says, the relief obvious in his voice. "They don't know we're here." He stays at the window, peering out into the gloom.

"They'll know soon enough, and they'll regret it," Mike growls defiantly. But his hand is shaking when he returns to April's side, and she lays a cool palm on his forehead and waits while he falls asleep.

* * *

The room is less dark, and she can see him standing guard by the window, peering out through the hole he made, sucking the relatively pure morning air into his lungs like a drowning man.


	6. Chapter 6

Splinter died protecting them. April knew that, although she hadn't witnessed the old rat's murder. She clearly remembered the night Michelangelo had gasped out the news and fallen senseless on her carpet, heartbroken and bleeding from a half dozen wounds. As she dragged him onto her sofa to clean and dress his injuries, April felt almost calm. There had to be some explanation for why it couldn't be true. Later, Mike and the others couldn't--or wouldn't--tell her what had happened.

She'd been in the Asylum a few years when she'd begun playing her game, inventing the Scenarios. Splinter's death was different in each one. They were all very sad, except for one version where Splinter actually escaped and was in hiding, waiting for the four turtles to reunite and reclaim the city from the Shredder. Pathetic of her, really—there didn't seem much hope of that ever happening. In Shredder's world, you didn't rise from the ashes. You choked on them, every day.

But what came after?

She was pretty sure that Splinter was in some version of heaven…probably not one with a bunch of cherubs sitting on clouds. In April's imagination, it was more like a peaceful Zen garden: waterfalls, green lawns, plenty of interesting bonsai and flowers. There had to be a dramatic mountain view, just so things wouldn't get too boring. And Tang Shen must be there, with Master Yoshi...together and happy.

There were days when she'd give anything for Splinter's wisdom and kind words, but she was fairly certain that she wasn't going to make it to that heaven. Could she ever be worthy?

Sometimes she'd almost laugh trying to picture Casey's afterlife. She was fairly certain she'd be welcome there, that it would probably resemble most of the set from Roadhouse, and it would smell like spilled beer and peanut shells and sports. Would Casey recognize her if she died tomorrow and walked through the swinging saloon doors? What song would they dance to first?

"Finally, I get to see you smile."

She looked up at Spader, who was keeping pace with her, a grin cracking across his lean face.

"Spader, why the mask?"

"Utrom technology. It's saved my life on more than one occasion."

"Well, I can understand that. But you wear it all the time."

Spader shrugged uncomfortably and adjusted the insignia on his shoulder; he'd traded his brightly patched cloak for the standard grey Resistance uniform. We're on official business, so I gotta look more official, he'd told her.

"After a while, stuff like that becomes part of your personality, you know? I wear it because…I wear it. Mike wears his all the time and you don't question it."

"What did you do before all this?" she waved a hand vaguely at the towering piles of debris that lined both sides of the street. A flock of seagulls rose, complaining, from a wharf on the nearby East River. The air smelled like rot.

"I was only in high school when Shredder took over. I made Eagle Scout that year…"

"Shh…did you hear that?"

Spader froze, then pulled her behind an abandoned truck. They waited, but the only sound came from the shrieking gulls overhead.

"I think it's okay. C'mon, the Vault is only two blocks away. But we have to be careful; the street is pretty heavily booby-trapped from here on in. Casey had to make sure that no unexpected visitors could get inside," he explained.

"I remember," she said suddenly. She had been there that day, when Casey and Raph laid out the plans for a series of traps. "Follow me."

She peeked out from behind the truck; the pavement ahead was webbed with cracks. It looked suddenly unfamiliar. A stray piece of litter blew across the street, catching April in the arm. Impatiently she waved it away. First, she had to make it to the lamppost—or was it the bench?

"Are you sure—"

Ignoring Spader, April forced her stiffening legs into a painful run from behind the rusting Ford, closing the distance to the lamppost with more speed than she dreamed she had. Her sneakers left the pavement seconds before she would have collided with the post, hands reaching for the broken crossbar that swung nine feet over the street.

She missed.

As she fell, April could hear the trapdoor opening below, and the rusty creak of subterranean metal spikes rising to butcher her. Damn Casey and his sick Indiana Jones fantasies.

He caught her, and the world became a dizzying series of leaps and rolls. The street, the sky, the piles of refuse, then the street again—all seemed to be whirling toward her at once. When he finally set her on her feet she clutched onto his arm for dear life before sliding to her knees, waiting for her second spectacular vomiting session in two days.

It was over fairly quickly, and stank of Chinese food.

"Thanks for the rescue. Guess my memory isn't as clear as I thought."

"Guess not."

April jerked her head up at the sound of a gruff voice that was definitely not Spader's.

His appearance came as no surprise; she had been there the day he lost his eye. Nicotine-stained fingers toyed nervously with the sai in his belt, half-hidden beneath the worn leather jacket.

"You done pukin' April, or should I wait to hug you?"

"Raphael," she said weakly, accepting the hand he held out to her. She felt her body tense as Angel's Second lifted her easily to her feet and gave her a rough hug. He gripped her shoulders, voice raw with emotion.

"If I'd known you were still alive, April…if Leo or Mike would have told me you were in that damned place…I would have busted you outta there in a heartbeat."

"Raphael, even if you had known, there's nothing you could have done."

Dark brown eyes, almost black, held hers. "Then I would have died trying."

"Um…we're going to the same place?"

"The Vault. Yeah, this is it all right. I haven't been here in years. We need the ceremonial gear for the…for the fight."

"So I heard you're standing with Angel," April began, figuring it would be better to get a conversation this awkward over with as quickly as possible. She broke off as she noticed Raph looking questioningly over her shoulder.

"Who's the kid?"

April stared in wonder: the child standing behind her wore Spader's mask and was about 10 years old with spiky blond hair, a bandaged forehead, and a crossbow slung over his shoulder. He also looked about ready to jump out of his skin.

"That's Sp…uh…that's…Greg," April lamely corrected herself, seeing the plea in the child's wide blue eyes. "He's my guide; the city's changed a lot since I was arrested."

"Hey, kid," Raph nodded.

"Hi," the boy squeaked.

"Let me go first," Raphael cautioned. "There's more dangerous stuff in here, but I can knock out the traps as we go." He turned to the crumbling façade of a building that had once been a credit union and started prying open one of the heavy doors.

"What's with the disguise?" April whispered to Spader. "Raph's on our side. Mostly. Except for when I fight Angel. Ugh…this is weird."

"If I don't disguise myself, he'll kill me," the boy said flatly.

"Not while I'm around he won't."

"Don't be so sure. He's crazy."

"Don't call him that!" April hissed.

"We have a history, me and Raph. I pissed him off one too many times. Long story. He vowed to kill me the last time. And he could, easily. Anyway, if you want me to keep helping you, I'd prefer to do it without a sai sticking out of my chest. And couldn't you have picked a better name? 'Greg'? I'm a freedom fighter, not a male flight attendant." He thought for a minute. "Or a Brady."

They were interrupted by the sharp snick of a sai successfully lining up the tumblers in a giant lock. The door opened on silent, massive hinges.

"Okay, I think I've got it—now pay attention: stay to the right, I mean hug the wall if you have to. We need to get down to the lower level." Raph disappeared into the shadowy room beyond.

Spader raised his crossbow with one hand and laid the other over his chest. "Be a sweetheart and try not to give me away, kay?" He followed the turtle into the gloom.

April tried to stride forward bravely, tripped over some debris, sighed, and plunged in after them.

The tour down to the Vault was uneventful. Raph popped every trap and told them which floor tiles concealed Explosives of Death or Pits of Doom. "That's what Casey loved to call them," he recalled with a chuckle. "That guy knew how to name his booby traps."

Beneath the mausoleum-like bank was a gaping vault, which Raphael avoided; instead, he headed for a small metal door that concealed a service elevator. They squeezed inside, Spader careful to position April between himself and the ninja.

"What're you supposed to be, kid? The Lone Ranger?"

"Heh," squeaked Spader.

"Hard to believe Mikey would send you out with just some kid to show you the way, April. If my little brother's not takin' care of you, I might have to have a word with him."

"Uh, yeah, Mike was just really busy today, getting ready for the fight and such."

"Kid's mask actually looks kind of familiar…"

"So, Raph, what exactly are we going to find in this place?" April broke in hurriedly, wondering how it was possible that they were crammed into the Slowest Elevator in History.

"Your fightin' gear, April. This is where Casey stored everything he thought the Resistance would need to hold itself together. There's copies of the Purpose, and maps and things, and souvenirs from our earlier battles with the Shredder to keep us motivated." He lowered his voice and stared at the floor of the elevator for a moment. "And it's where we're storing all of Donny's stuff—his books, his plans and charts and whatall. Ya know, for when he comes back."

He yanked open the metal grating and they stepped out of the suffocating box.

"And there's these," he continued, lifting a spotless white mask from a shelf. April shivered. Funny, when Casey used to wear his hockey mask, it sort of turned her on. Now it was just a skull she was supposed to strap on over her face. She willed her hands to stop trembling as she took it from him.

"Why did you guys write the combat rules this way, Raph? Why these?" she asked as she slid it into place. It made her voice sound far away while her breath echoed eerily.

Raphael took another mask for Angel. Then he began stuffing a golf bag full of weapons. April watched as he added a five iron, then a cricket bat, a pair of ice and field hockey sticks, a driver, a baseball bat….

"Because Casey and Raph's Resistance has to be badass, right Kid?" Raphael ruffled Spader's hair as he twirled a badminton racquet and stuffed it into the bag.

Well, at least that one won't hurt that much, April thought.

Raphael seemed to have the same thought, for he frowned and replaced the racquet with a three-wood. Then he unexpectedly pressed the leather handle of the bag into her hands.

"I wanted to make sure you got the good stuff, April."

"Why are you doing this, Raphael? Why are you standing with her?" She couldn't keep the sound of pain and betrayal from her voice.

He mechanically slid some weapons into a second, more worn golf bag.

"Kid, maybe you should go wait in the elevator, okay? Wow, that kid sure can move fast. Anyway," he cleared his throat, "Angel's my…we're sorta…we've been through a lot together over the past ten years," he finished quickly. "There were times when we both thought the whole Resistance was done for, but we brought it back from the edge. She's saved my shell, I've saved hers. She needs me, April. Not just for your fight, but for a whole lot of reasons."

April raised an eyebrow and was rewarded by the green equivalent of a blush.

"Yeah, okay, she's my girl. But she's losing control of the organization, April. There's somethin' going on in the movement. We've got a leak. First it was the locations of our field hospitals, then the ammo dump. We've had to move headquarters twice in the last eight months. Someone's spilling our secrets to the Shredder, and we've paid for it in lives. Kids as young as that one, dead on the front lines. I gotta be there tonight because I think something's going to go down, if you know what I mean."

"What, like an insurrection? A coup? Does Angel think so too?"

"She's fighting tooth and nail to stay on top of everything, but right now we both think only the Commandos are totally loyal. And me and Mikey, too, of course. If you win this fight, April, you'll have a hell of an organization to run."

Raphael gave them a ride back to the dilapidated hospital on his Harley, April clutching on behind him, Spader tucked into the sidecar.

He took a winding route, mindful of shaking any pursuers, but April was glad for the extra time to think. Her weapons were solid, and she could already feel her body responding to the food, rest, and friendship. She felt almost strong. She should have been focusing on battle strategies.

Instead, images of honey-colored fingers tangled in red cloth, of green hands moving through cropped black hair, flashed through her mind. They brought back a more familiar Scenario—a fantasy of her younger days that made her blush to the roots of her stubble: Donny, exhausted, pulling away from his computer after one of their late night tech sessions. Herself, knowing the power she had over him, drawing her fingers across his cheek and down to his plastron, sliding onto his lap, feeling a pleasant ache as she pressed herself against him. Guilt flooded her chest--thinking about him that way, after all that she and Casey had meant to each other. It wasn't right.

She was glad when they finally reached headquarters—to disentangle herself from the turtle in front of her, to climb unsteadily off the rumbling Harley.

They watched Raph's taillights disappear down the darkening street.

"What's on your mind? And can I have some?" Spader was back to his normal size and age, rubbing limbs sore from being crammed into a sidecar full of sporting equipment and a very pointy crossbow.

"A fight," she said slowly, coming back to the present. Her stomach lurched. "Oh God…a fight. With a badass chick ten years younger than me who commands an army of people who strongly distrust me. I'm going to die."

Spader lifted the golf bag in one hand, an invisible pom-pom in the other. "Er…'go April'?"

"Is it all a big joke to you, Captain Spader?" she snapped. "I don't even have a Second. I'm…"

"Yes you do," he broke in. "It's me. I'm your second. Mike and I decided while you were asleep, before the lovely attack we had last night. Done deal."

"Oh, great, nice of you guys to let me know. Shouldn't I choose my own Second? And haven't you been paying attention? Raph'll be there. I'm sure having a shrimpy eight-year-old on my side is going to win hearts and minds. Angel will probably just forfeit when she sees you standing behind me—"

"Hey—you have permission to Verbally Abuse the Second. It's in the rules. But none of this talk of failure, alright? Mike can't do it because he's gotta stay neutral. Angel knows that—she needs him to represent Law and Order while she's in the ring. Leonardo, as we all know, is batshit—"

April jerked her head up at that.

"—uh, is a bit mentally unstable right now. Obviously he's the best choice because of your history together, but there's no way you can trust him to follow through now. Unless, of course, he's me."

Spader pressed a button on his belt and April found herself standing face to face with Leonardo.

"Wild," she breathed, reaching out to touch his nose.

"Nose Touching is NOT in the rules, if you don't mind."

"Does Leo know you're doing this?"

"He will soon enough. There's no way he's going to miss this fight, April. Crazy as that guy is, you mean the world to him. He'll keep an eye on you as long as he's alive to do it."


	7. Chapter 7

"So you saw him? I thought you might. Most of the time he's busy working down at the garage, modifying junked cars for Angel. But when he's off duty, he haunts that place like a ghost." Mike ripped off a bit of fried dough and handed it to April. It was steaming hot but she shoved it into her mouth anyway. She bent to finish lacing up one of the scuffed black boots he had scrounged for her.

"He seemed…"

"Kinda pathetic, huh?"

"No! Well, Spader didn't think so. He was scared out of his wits."

"Yeah, you should ask Spades to tell you why sometime. It's a great story."

"He saved my life, Mikey—I set off one of Casey's old traps. Funny—I thought I remembered how to avoid them all."

Mike groaned and smacked his hand against his forehead. "It was the Pointy Pit of Dying, wasn't it? I knew I should've warned you about that one. Raph installed it secretly, after he started storing Donny's stuff down there. He got a little more paranoid than usual about Vault security after that."

"He seems to think Donatello's coming back."

Mike shrugged.

"Do you think we'll ever see him again?" April kept her tone casual. Having finished lacing the right boot, she started on the left.

"I don't know if I _want_ to see him. Raph and Leo are the ones obsessed with the past. Why don't you ask them? I've moved on." He quickly changed the subject. "You did a good job loading up this weapons bag, April. You picked some of the best stuff in the Vault."

"Raph filled it, not me." She broke the lace, yanked it out, knotted it together, and started over. "If Donny did return—"

"Can we stop talking about him, please? Here, put this on." He handed her the white goalie mask.

April adjusted it over her face, still uncomfortable with the sound of her own breathing ringing in her ears. Mike gave a low whistle and turned her so she was facing the cracked mirror on the wall.

The largest crack ran jaggedly across the upper right corner of the glass, making her head look skewed away from her body. The clean grey uniform was slightly too big for her, but the boots were a large improvement over her disintegrating plastic Asylum-issued sneakers. A black hood hid the ruins of her hair while her face grinned skull-like back at her.

"I think I'm ready."

"Not yet—you need one more weapon." He slid Leo's katana into the golf bag. "Not many weapons like this around anymore. Angel sure doesn't have anything like it."

"Do you think Leonardo will show up?"

They hadn't seen him since dawn, when he left without speaking to either of them. April couldn't shake the eerie sight of his staring eyes, or forget the sound of his despair-filled voice. She wondered what he would do if he _did_ show up to the fight. But he had to come, didn't he? It was his idea in the first place, this single combat challenge.

"I'm not counting on him," Mike said shortly.

"Spades said Leo would be there."

"Spader…" Mike trailed off, shaking his head.

"I need him there, Mikey. He might be nuts, but I can't do this without him."

"April, it might not matter whether Leo's there or not. All I mean is that you need to do this yourself," he said hurriedly. "Leo wouldn't be able to help you anyway—it's more likely he'd flip out or something and screw up the whole thing. Let it be."

Hating the feeling of desperation that was rising in her gut, April slung the heavy golf bag over her shoulder. It was time, with or without Leonardo. But there was something else bothering her, something she had to get off her chest before meeting Angel in the ring.

"Mike, what do you know about leaks in the organization? Is there anyone you don't trust?"

"Who told you there are leaks?" he demanded.

"Raphael."

"He's paranoid," Michelangelo answered shortly. "Besides, apart from his thing with Angel, he's mostly an outsider now."

"I don't know, Mike. He said someone's been giving away your position."

"April, I trust every man and woman here. A lot of them I recruited myself."

"Mike—"

His fist tightened, then fell to his side. "If I can't trust them, I've got nothing, April. Just let it be."

* * *

It was forged from iron scraps and other refuse, welded into a grotesque cube, illuminated by the headlights of a dozen cars. April hadn't expected the cage, but when she saw it everything seemed to fall into place. It made so much sense: Angel had practically grown up cage fighting.

Barbed wire fences sprang up on all sides of the empty lot where the cage stood. The area was sheltered from above by the tilting ruins of a cluster of old factory buildings. And though the lot was filled with freedom fighters of all ages, there was a heavy silence in the night air: reverence for one of their most sacred ceremonies.

Hundreds turned and stared at her as she approached.

"Boy, if _that_ doesn't shake your spine, I don't know what will."

"Shut up, Spader. I need to think."

"Is it too late for me to back outta this?" he asked nervously, adjusting his dark glasses and hitching the golf bag a bit higher on his muscular green shoulder. "Just kidding!" he protested at the look she gave him.

"If you're going to be Leo, I suggest you relax and start behaving like him."

"You mean act all surly and emo and then go mental at a critical moment?"

"Spader…"

"I'll shut up now."

"Maybe we should go over the rules one more time."

"April, we've been over and over it. You've got three rounds, three weapons of choice. You fight until the round ends. I watch and make sure it goes down fairly, that there's no interference."

Barely listening to him, she took a deep breath and entered the cage. The glass-littered ground crunched beneath her feet. Not for the first time, she wondered why anyone thought it was a good idea for her to have Captain Spader as her Second, or why she had agreed to single combat in the first place. _Not much left to lose now_, she thought grimly.

It was difficult to focus on the scene outside the ring; the headlights were aimed directly at her, glaring into her face. Shading her eyes, April squinted out into the darkness, but Angel was nowhere in sight. Suddenly the growl of a motorcycle engine filled the night air. The crowd parted to let Raphael through.

He dismounted from the bike, shouldered Angel's weapons bag, and took up his station outside the far corner of the cage. As his one good eye fixed on Spader his forehead creased in deadly concentration. Spader let out a strangled "eep" as Raph drew his sai and crossed his arms over his chest, nodding coldly at the man he took for his brother. Spades nodded in response and stationed himself at the opposite corner of the ring, just outside the cage. He'd have to hand April her weapons through the bars.

"Be cool, Captain," she breathed, yanking her mask down over her face. She avoided looking at Raph. She hated that he wasn't there for her. They were _her_ turtles, damn it, not Angel's. She had known them first, had been friends with them the longest.

"Be _cool_? Easy for you to say. I'd rather face Angel than _him_ any day." Spader caught his breath. "Look."

April turned along with the rest of the crowd; a disembodied death-pale head was floating down a nearby alley toward them. Harsh whispers broke out here and there among the onlookers as those nearest the alley's mouth drew back.

And then Angel emerged from the alley into the light. She wore full black, as usual, and went immediately to Raphael. They bowed to each other. Mike appeared behind Angel as she entered the cage; without a glance at April, he slammed the door and locked it.

Turning to the hushed crowd, he began to speak.

"We have come tonight to witness the Sacred Rite of Single Combat. We honor and accept the winner of this contest as our leader. Three rounds, with no interference from the Gathering—in the event of a draw, those present will choose the victor. Fighters, declare your intent."

Angel stepped forward and raised her fist in the air. "Goongala Cowabunga!" she shouted, her voice slightly hoarse. The crowd cheered, with much of the noise coming from a tough-looking group standing right next to the cage: the Commandoes.

"Now you," prompted Spader without taking his eyes off Angel.

April had thought the words silly, but now they exploded from somewhere in her gut. "_Goongala Cowabunga_!" She was surprised to hear scattered cheering and whistles from the onlookers. She had…supporters?

Michelangelo continued, "The combatants will bow and prepare for Round One."

April had never heard Michelangelo speak with so much authority; clearly the crowd respected him. _He should be their leader_, she thought as she faced her opponent and returned Angel's stiff bow.

Mike raised his arm and brought it down with force, flinging a dagger wrapped in red cloth into the dirt at his feet. Round One had begun. The crowd roared to life.

April reeled as Angel's foot connected with her jaw. She rubbed her face and watched stupidly as her opponent ran to Raphael to select her first weapon. Turning, she stumbled toward…Leonardo.

"She's a cunning little minx, that one," Leonardo grumbled in Spader's voice.

_Yeah, right—not Leo, Spader._

"Um…you would be wanting a weapon of some kind, right? Because…look out!"

April ducked as a five-iron whined through the air and smashed into the side of the cage where her head had been. She rolled across the hard packed dirt, barely avoiding Angel's furious blows. _She's definitely fighting while angry_, April realized. _One of Master Splinter's biggest ninja no-no's._ A whirlwind of follow-up strikes forced her to think less and move more, gaining her feet and running again to Spader.

He handed her a Jose Canseco baseball bat.

"For real?" she gasped.

"No time, no time! Take it already!"

For the second time, she dodged and barely avoided Angel's attack, but this time she had her own weapon. April swung blindly upwards, cursing the mask that cut off so much of her peripheral vision…shocked when the wooden bat connected with flesh.

"Ugh!" Angel gasped. She clutched her abdomen and spun away from April, who stared at her numbly.

"For the love of—April, snap out of it!" Spader barked, clutching the bars in both hands.

"Shut up and keep outta this fight, Leo," Raph warned from the far side of the ring. "Or I'll shut you up myself."

April didn't wait to see Spader's response to that. "Angel, we can end this now. Do you yield?"

Angel responded with a sudden leap at April; her fist smashed into April's jaw, shattering the lower half of her enemy's mask. The force of the blow sent April flying backwards into the bars. The crowd began chanting Angel's name.

Clutching onto the side of the cage with one hand, April reached up and touched her face. The jagged edge of the mask had cut into her cheek, and blood was flowing freely down her chin and dripping onto her collar. There was no pain.

"Move move _move_!" Spader screamed.

She blindly stumbled away from the bars, tripped over her fallen bat, and fell into Angel. The two tumbled to the ground.

"Get off!" Angel shouted, shoving April away from her.

A gunshot—Round One was over.

April crawled to where Spader waited. "How'd I do?" she asked weakly.

He shook his head. "More hitting, less falling, O'Neil."

"That bad, huh?"

"Well, you're still alive. Here, have some water."

"I thought he'd be here by now." Pulling off what was left of her mask, she drank thirstily.

Spader reached through the bars and gently mopped the blood from her face. "Leonardo? He'll be here."

Michelangelo stepped toward them. "Round Two will begin in one minute. April, you okay? You want to keep going?"

"Yeah, Mikey."

"You're doing well." He bowed to them both and went to speak with Angel.

"This time, let's start with a weapon." Spader searched through the bag. "Katana?"

"Not yet—give me a hockey stick."

"Field or ice?"

"Ice."

The dagger dropped. The second round began.

This time the combatants circled each other carefully. Angel twirled a javelin above her head before pointing it at April's heart; April crouched, holding her hockey stick in front of her with both hands.

The crowd took up their chant, but April noticed that it was mainly concentrated among the Commandoes. "Angel, Angel, Angel!"

Their general lunged and April found herself sidestepping a thrust that would've removed most of her large intestine.

She swept her stick upward, catching Angel in the shoulder, but Angel responded with several quick jabs. April frantically parried them, surprised at her own speed and at her ability to recall the few weapons training sessions Master Splinter had given her years before. For a few moments the loud clack of wooden weapons was the only sound in the makeshift arena.

Then Angel dug the tip of her weapon into the ground and vaulted into the air. April brought her stick up to defend herself, but it shattered beneath Angel's powerful kick. Tossing the broken pieces aside, April dove across the ring to where Spader waited with a field hockey stick. It was short, wouldn't give her as much range as the other blade, but was thick enough (she hoped) to withstand her enemy's fiercer attacks.

"Nice stick, O'Neil. Let's see how long it takes me to snap this one."

April didn't answer. Instead she swung with all her strength in the general direction of Angel's upper body. Her opponent easily dodged the attack, countering with her longer, more effective weapon. April found herself jumping over a blow aimed at her legs; she took advantage of the maneuver to swing her stick again, this time connecting with Angel's right knee.

The crowd gasped as their leader collapsed to the dirt, writhing in pain.

"Do you yield now?" April asked breathlessly.

Black eyes flashed from behind Angel's white mask as she slowly dragged herself backwards toward where Raphael was waiting, both of his hands clutching the bars of their cage. "Never," she hissed.

"Then I'm sorry about this." April raised her weapon again. A shuriken spun through the air, embedding itself deep in the stick's handle, only inches from her fingers. She froze, unsure of which direction the attack had come from.

"Foul!" shouted Spader. "Unfair interference, ref!"

But before Michelangelo could intervene, Angel lurched forward and swept April's legs out from under her. As April scrambled to her knees, a blow rocked the back of her head. Bright lights exploded across her field of vision like a mini-supernova and in the darkness that followed the only thing she noticed was the rich smell of dirt under her nose.

* * *

Redwoods, hai-matsu, and persimmons waved peacefully in the cool mountain breeze. April opened her eyes and breathed deeply. The fragrance of warm pines smelled like heaven.

It reminded her of a camping trip with Uncle Augie years ago, when she was a child. It had been early spring in the mountains, and he'd taught her how to build a snow shelter. The thaw released scents that had been imprisoned for months, but for some reason it was the scent of pine that always brought her back to those days.

Now she wasn't sure where she was—only that it felt like coming home.

A bright stream wound down the hillside where a simple shrine stood. The valleys and foothills below were obscured by haze, and she felt glad to be up in the clear air. Somehow, she wasn't surprised when he walked toward her across the small, grassy clearing.

Donatello laughed out loud. "April!"

Then she was in his arms, adding her own delighted laughter to his. "Donny, what's going on? Where are we?"

"Heaven. I'm here visiting Master Splinter. I needed a break from my lab. But what are you doing here?"

"I—I don't know. Why are you dressed like a Jedi?"

He looked down at his plain brown robes. "Why don't you tell me? It's your trauma-induced hallucination."

Her heart fell. "This is a dream?"

"These robes aren't bad, actually—we've always preferred nonrestrictive clothing when we're forced to wear any."

"A dream…but it seems so real. Is Casey here, too?" she asked, unsettled for a moment by a nagging feeling of guilt.

"Nah, he's back at the Roadhouse. But he says 'hi'."

They stood together in silence for a minute or two, listening to the sound of the wind and enjoying each other's company. So much of their time together had been spent in companionable quiet, April remembered. It had been nice, not always having to speak.

"If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up," she murmured.

Don's face grew serious. "You can't stay here forever," he warned. "This is just a reprieve—you can catch your breath, that's all."

"Can I see Splinter?"

Donatello led her through the shallow rocky stream and toward a small wooden house on the hillside. The paper doors slid open easily.

"Someone here to see you, Father."

April removed her shoes and followed her friend into the clean, white room.

The master stood poised above a half-trimmed bonsai at a small workbench in the corner. His face was sleek and smooth, without the grizzled fur or wrinkles she remembered. When he rose to greet her he stood straight and tall, and when she returned his welcoming embrace there was no sign of frailty, only hard, sure muscle.

"Welcome, April. But why have you come here, in the middle of your battle?"

"I—I don't know, Master Splinter. I was there, then I was here." She didn't ask him how he had known about her fight. _He's part of my subconscious thought, after all. Just a memory living in my brain._

"She was injured, father. A blow to the head—"

"Quiet for a moment, my son." Splinter closed his eyes in concentration. They flew open almost immediately. "April, you must go, now! There is great danger!"

"But I just got here! I—I'd like to stay, master."

"It is not your time to be here, April. You have a great deal still to do in the other place. Come, I have something for you."

Lifting the lid of an ornate wooden box, Splinter removed a delicate chrysanthemum. "Take this with you, April."

"Is it…will it turn into a sword, like the other flower?" she asked nervously. Her palms still remembered the lily's cold fire.

He smiled. "No, it won't turn into anything so useful. It is merely beautiful, but beauty in a dark place can be quite powerful."

She gazed at the flower for a moment. "Master Splinter, will they let me lead them? After everything that's happened, if I win, how will I get them to trust me?"

"You are steadfast by nature, April. You will earn their trust."

"They're always going to remember what I did."

He looked at her steadily, black eyes unblinking. "You must not dwell on the past, April, while there is still a way to change the present. Go now! Or I'm afraid it will be too late. Donatello, you must help her to return."

The turtle waited by the door as April turned to ask a question that had been weighing on her mind. "Splinter, are you happy here?"

A beautiful smile spread across his face. "It is a place of joy, April. And part of that joy is in remembering."

Donatello led the way back to the shrine.

"So, 'you must help me to return,' huh?"

"Yeah, Splinter likes us to figure out a lot of stuff on our own."

"You're telling me you don't know how to get me back to New York?"

He folded his hands sagely into the sleeves of his robe. "Technically, you're still in New York. Well, your body is, at any rate. We've got to reestablish the body-mind connection to patch you back into the present."

"Great. I don't see any yoga studios around here, Obi-Wan."

"In spite of your _sarcasm_, April, you have struck the right idea, except for one little problem. You ended up on this mental plane through physical trauma; we're going to need to shock your psyche out of this place—send a little message to your brain that forces it to reconnect."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I could kick you in the head," he said playfully, balancing on one foot and pivoting until the other was level with her eyes.

"I thought you were the Nonviolent Turtle."

"You're right; it might be as simple as pinching yourself. Try that."

"Not working."

In her effort to wake her body, she dropped the chrysanthemum. Donatello picked it up, but instead of handing it to her he reached over and tucked it behind her ear. "It looks much better there." His hand lingered by her cheek before abruptly dropping to his side. "Don't worry, we'll—" He broke off as she leaned forward and kissed him.

Several things happened at once. April could hear Donatello's surprised gasp, then his sharp intake of breath before his mouth opened beneath hers and he responded, eagerly, to her kiss. She could feel a tingling sensation in her fingertips, then her feet. The sky tilted and went black.

_This is all in my mind_, she repeated to herself as she heard Donny call her name, his voice coming to her across a widening chasm of time and space._ All in my mind,_ she chanted as the sweet scent of pine fled before the coppery odor of bloodstained earth.

_

* * *

AN: Thank you to Mariosonic and Nineteenth Souljah for VERY helpful feedback on this chapter--it's much appreciated._


	8. Chapter 8

April coughed violently, spitting blood and dirt. Sounds of confusion, shouts, and running footsteps filled the air around her. Broken glass ground into her palms and knees as she struggled to her feet.

"Angel, get down!"

It was Raphael's voice. His command wasn't addressed to April, but she immediately dropped to her belly. Seconds later, a crossbow bolt buried itself in the dirt only a few inches away.

Turning her head gingerly to the side, she could see Angel lying on the ground nearby. Her mask was gone and her face seethed with rage and pain. The feathered shaft of another bolt protruded from Angel's thigh.

"You're gonna pay for that, you sick bastard!" Raph continued yelling from somewhere behind her.

April crawled toward Angel. The air thickened with smoke; from the smell of it, one or more of the cars ringing the Cage had been set on fire.

_On the plus side, maybe the smoke will screen us from whoever's shooting at us_, April thought as she reached Angel's side.

"How do we get out of here, Angel? We have to move now."

Angel flopped onto her side and struggled to stand, then sunk back to the dirt with a moan. She didn't seem to notice April beside her. "Damn you, Leonardo…."

"Angel, listen—does Michelangelo have the only key to this cage?"

Angel squeezed her eyes shut and nodded; her hand flexed over the bloody dart sticking out of her leg as though she was about to rip it free. April grabbed her hand and peeled her fingers loose from the shaft.

"Do you want to bleed to death? Leave it alone! Mike will help, if we can just find him. Hold on."

"Don't you see that it's over, April? We're fighting each other. It's a coup. Just a house divided, as my grandma used to say. And you know what happens to a house divided? It falls. That's it." A coughing fit racked her body.

"Who, Angel? Who are the ringleaders? Who started this uprising?"

"Does it matter? From the look of it, whoever they are, they've won over at least half of my men. Our fight was such a joke." She touched the bloody arrow. "They were planning on assassinating me anyway."

The air was growing blacker and more noxious by the second. Were all the cars on fire? April couldn't see the fighters anymore, could only hear the shouts and deathcries of battle. Where the smoke was thinner she could see grey-clad Resistance members battling each other…and then, the official uniform and insignia of Shredder's infantry.

_Good God, they've found us._

Bullets raked through the thick air, peppering brick and dirt, metal and flesh alike. Then smoke billowed again, and it was as though she and Angel were alone in a hellish limbo of iron bars and darkness.

April tried to call out Michelangelo's name. She was crouching as close to the ground as possible, away from the worst of the smoke, but still his name came out in a strangled, choking cough. There was no way he'd be able to hear her through the tumult of the battle.

Then she realized she had other problems. A small river of gasoline from one of the destroyed cars was flowing into their cage. April wondered what getting blown to bits felt like.

Suddenly, through the swirling smoke, Leo came into view, and April felt her hopes rise; but then he brought a crossbow up to shoulder-level—aimed it at Angel—

"Leonardo, NO!" April screamed hoarsely.

At that moment, _another_ Leonardo launched himself at the first. April stared as the two identical turtles rolled together in the dust, watching in complete confusion until she remembered about Spader's disguise. It was Spader, not Leo, who had fired the crossbow at Angel. But why was Spades shooting at her?

Leo easily kicked Spader's weapon away, but his opponent responded by drawing a long knife and slashing at Leo's abdomen. April thought she saw her friend clutch at his belly for a brief moment before slicing at Spader's face with his sword, then slashing it across his body. There was a loud pop and crackle as Spader's mask was broken to pieces. His disguise shattered under Leonardo's attack and his familiar lanky form flew backwards, hitting the side of the cage hard. He was unconscious. April was suddenly distracted by wetness around her hands and knees: the gasoline.

"Leo, help!"

Leonardo ran toward her.

"April, you okay?" He pulled out a small blade and jammed it into the lock.

"Yes," she gasped. "But Spader—"

"—is a dead man," Leonardo finished for her grimly.

"Why did he…Angel's hurt badly, Leo."

"I'll have you out in a sec. Bring her over here if you can."

April crawled back to Angel's side. The sound of a nearby explosion caused her to drop to the ground before reaching out and shaking Angel's shoulder.

"C'mon, we've got to get out of here. Can you move at all?"

"A—a little." Angel sounded weak. April took a deep breath and gripped the other woman under the arms. The two half-crawled, half-slithered to where Leo was jimmying the lock.

"I've almost got it," he breathed.

"Don't go near him, Angel!" Raphael loomed out of the smoke.

Raph's leather bomber jacket was missing, revealing hard muscle and a scarred, battle-worn body. He reached back and tightened the knot of his red mask before drawing his sai.

"You shoot at Angel, Leo? You shoot at _April_? Then you have to deal with me, you sick fuck." With a flip of his wrist Raph beckoned with one sai.

"You moron—it wasn't me! I'm trying to _help_ them!"

The smell of burning fuel hit April's nostrils as Raphael flew toward Leo, spinning a deadly blade toward his brother's neck. Leo ducked beneath the blow, delivering kicks to Raphael's belly and face before swinging his brother over the top of his shell and dumping him in the dirt. Raphael sprang to his feet and charged again. The two brothers clashed weapon to weapon, breathing heavily, feet digging into the dirt, neither willing to give any ground.

"Raphael, Leonardo, stop it!" Angel cried out weakly before collapsing again.

April couldn't wait any longer. She reached through the bars and desperately twisted Leo's dagger, still in the lock. "Come on…" she whispered. It wouldn't budge. A hand closed over hers, ice cold but still strong.

"Let me," came a shuddering voice.

April sat back on her heels as Captain Spader worked on the lock. Behind her the first of the fuel spills flared up, and in the yellow-red light the face of her former friend, her trusted Second, looked ghost-pale and far too old for his age. Then the lock clicked and the door swung open. Spader helped April drag Angel out of the fuel-soaked enclosure, which had become no more than an iron time bomb. Then he staggered, clutching his abdomen; he tried to smile as he fell to the dirt.

Beside him lay Angel, drifting into unconsciousness, her full lips pale with a slight streak of blood at the corner of her mouth.

It was too much: the bad air, her wounded Second, the fighting brothers, a dying enemy…and, from the sounds of it, the last fragments of the Resistance being thrashed by Shredder's street brigades. A few yards away, Leonardo fell as Raphael landed a well-placed punch.

"Raphael! Leonardo! Enough!" April yelled as Raphael dived on top of his brother, only to be launched away by a powerful defensive kick before Leo was back on his feet. Taking up Angel's discarded javelin, April dodged between the battling brothers. They paused, panting, and watched as she lifted the weapon in two hands and broke it over her knee.

"Do you see how useless your fighting is?" she screamed. "Do you see what you are doing? Raphael—take Angel and GO. Get out! Leonardo, go find Michelangelo and help him and the others! Shredder's troops are here and more are probably coming!"

Neither Raphael nor Leonardo moved a muscle. April reached out with the two halves of the javelin and smacked them both on their heads, simultaneously.

"I said go."

Leonardo snorted, stared at Raphael for a long moment, and left in a swirl of black leather. Raph rubbed his head where April had hit him. Then he seemed to notice Angel for the first time.

"Oh God, Angel," he moaned, running to her side.

Her eyes fluttered open as Raphael gently lifted her in his arms, careful not to jostle the deadly bolt in her leg.

"Baby, you'll be okay…you'll be okay," he repeated quietly. One pale hand rose to touch his cheek, and then dropped. April had never seen Raphael this terrified before. "April, get yourself out of here—get to the Vault, the Hospital, anywhere, just run. We'll rendezvous later."

"No," April said quietly. "I've got to help the others. Get Angel to safety, Raph. If you can return and help us, fine. If not—well, you've got your own life to live."

"I won't abandon you, April. Leo's the one who leaves people behind. Leo's the one who left Master Splinter to die, who shot Angel—"

April cut him off mid-rant. "Leonardo didn't shoot Angel, Captain Spader did. Don't let your girlfriend bleed to death tonight because of your stubbornness," she finished before her old friend could respond. Not waiting to see Raphael go, she turned back to Spader, who lay still by the cage.

By some miracle, the fuel-soaked ground hadn't ignited yet. April dropped to the wet dirt by Spader's side. A widening pool of darkness spread out from under his belly as the lifeblood drained away. She took him by the shoulders and gently turned him over, hoping—but Leonardo had done his work too well.

"Hey," he breathed. "Sorry."

"Where'd you learn to pick locks like that?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light, but it was shaking badly. "You saved our lives."

"Eagle Scout," he slurred, eyes fluttering closed again. She realized she liked seeing his face without the mask. A lump started to rise in her throat.

"Spader, why? Why were you shooting at us?" Her voice was raw with hurt and betrayal, and then realization dawned. "You're Raph's leak, aren't you? You're one of Shredder's men: a double agent!" Her suspicions grew. "Did you throw that shuriken at me too?"

His breath grew shallower, and he coughed slightly at this—she realized he was laughing.

"No double agent. A lot of us agreed…Angel was—hurting the Movement—needed better leader. Needed to win the game." He gazed up at her with a face full of regret. "The shuriken was supposed to hit Angel. I fail as a ninja." Spades tried to laugh again but it came out as a wheeze. With a great deal of effort he brought his hand up and laid it on her shoulder. "It's your turn, April."

"C'mon, I've got to get you out of here," she murmured, trying to lift him by the shoulders.

"No." He was having great difficulty speaking. "Sword," he whispered. "Over there. It's time."

The soft sound of his last breath escaping him was lost as a fresh chorus of screams erupted in the alley beyond. April turned and saw Casey's discarded golf bag lying a few feet away, the dark hilt of the katana just visible inside. She lowered Spader's body gently to the ground before crawling to the bag and grabbing hold of the sword. Standing, she slung the golf bag over her shoulders and pulled the blade from its sheath.

"I'm sorry, friend," she whispered, before turning toward the battle beyond.

She did not turn around when she heard the roar of flames behind her. She didn't want to see his body taken that way.

Michelangelo came running toward her, coughing and choking in the toxic air. "April! Thank God!"

"Michelangelo, what's happening?"

"Back there, in the alley—half our force has been pinned down by an attachment of Shredder's troops. The Commandos got separated from the rest of us; I think they escaped to the river. The rest—the ones against Angel—deserted."

"Status of those in the alley?"

"Bad shape, most of 'em. Leo just came to help, told me you were here—I came to get you to safety."

Several rounds of automatic fire bit through the night air. Far away April could hear raid sirens…the Karai bots would be here any minute…

"I think it's time we hit the sewers again, Mikey. What do you say? Is there any way we can evacuate everyone down there?"

He thought for a moment. "There is an access point at the end of the alley. It could work, but only if we have a strong enough rearguard to give everyone enough time to get away. There are so many injured—"

"Leo and I can gather those healthy enough to fight; the rest will need you to guide them underground. Mike, it will be better if we disperse for a while—no one goes back to base until we make sure it's safe."

Michelangelo inclined his head slightly, twirling his nunchuck nervously. "What about Spades?"

April found she could only shake her head, feeling a pang in her stomach as Mike's face registered the news.

"Okay," he said quickly, passing his hand across his eyes. "Okay, we have to get back. They need us. They need you." Suddenly, in the midst of the blood and flames, he bowed low before April. "General."


	9. Epilogue: Return to the Bright World

_**Fifteen Years Later…**_

* * *

The map of New York glowed with a soft blue light. She ran calloused fingertips across its smooth surface, noting times and places where Shredder's forces had struck and where they might strike next.

April smiled. Why think defensively when you could plot an attack? The map was filled with hidden vulnerabilities if you knew where to look. Her fingers slowed, rested on the tip of Manhattan. Reaching back, she tucked a lock of thick, graying hair into her bandanna. _The fuel dump, of course._

There was a scent of change in the air, as sure as the smell of rain on a spring evening. Over the past few weeks, the dreams had been returning—old dreams, ones she hadn't had since the Asylum—racing through her mind each night, growing more intense each time. Each one filled her with a fresh sense of hope. She'd even visited the Vault a few times, going to the corner where Raph had stored His things.

Angel hadn't talked to Raphael in at least five years, but it was clear that he, too, had been visiting the small shrine-like corner dedicated to preserving Donatello's worldly possessions. Papers had been moved; photos lay scattered across a nearby table, the topmost featuring four brothers who used to fight as one.

April believed it was a sign. She and Angel had talked about it far into the night, lying on army cots pushed close together inside the husk of an old fallout shelter. Angel was too practical to believe that Donatello would come back. She worried about what she called "Raphael's obsession" with his missing brother.

_Never mind Angel's doubts_, April thought. _At least I can count on her for some top-rate sabotage. Shredder's fuel dump is history._

After dispatching a young courier to deliver orders to Angel and her Commandos—God, this messenger is all of eleven years old, she thought with a grimace—April heard a familiar husky voice behind her.

"Hey, Rebel Leader…."

April turned, expecting Mike to deliver a report on the activities of Shredder's torture squads at the Midtown Prison. She would always reflect afterwards, even as she ran to Donatello's side, on the pure joy of getting what is expected least and wanted most.

_And so it begins_, she thought as her heart began to race, pressing her hands against her old friend's shell—solid—real—present.

_Now._

_**THE END**_


End file.
